inside of love
by uchihasass
Summary: sarada watches her parents, over the years. [naruto gaiden non-compliant]


**four**

one of sarada's earliest memories comprise of seeing a lot of the intimidating expanse of her parents' closed door, looming large over her tiny body. there are times papa goes days without greeting the light of day, or talking to mama, or tucking her in at bedtime. mama only tells her he is unwell, that he suffers an ailment of the heart, which makes him crave the dark of his room. sarada learns patience this way. from her mother. because they wait, always eyeing his closed door but never pushing their way in. eventually, papa will reemerge and he will be just as wistfully affectionate as he is on his good days. and things go back to normal for a while, until his heart clenches, and he gets that glassy look in his eyes again.

* * *

**seven**

seasons change, mama grows prettier and scarier, papa speaks less with his eyes and more with his words, and sarada grows taller and more curious. _why do the villagers look at papa funny? why doesn't she have two sets of grandparents like most kids in the neighborhood? why isn't uncle itachi's name engraved in the village memorial stone if he gave his life for the village?_ mama is all smiles and distractions whenever sarada brings these peculiarities up, while papa shuts down completely. she doesn't realize what is going on under the surface, but she sees that her parents work as one unit. she realizes that mama is always there to magically conjure popsicles and dangos out of thin air whenever papa looks like he has seen a ghost. it's like your hands reflexively planting on the ground, so you don't fall on your face when your legs give in for whatever reason. sarada would rather have her questions answered, even if it meant getting dirt on her face.

* * *

**ten**

academy is a mixed bag of pleasant surprises and horrifying experiences. to sarada's great relief, she places first in all exams, theory and practical. she is her mama and papa's girl, she's told with a big pat on her back by uncle naruto. this isn't taken so well by boruto, who is barely keeping up with the rest of the class by the skin of his teeth. in a spurt of juvenile jealousy, he starts taunting her in between lessons.

"hey sarada," he says, one day, looking like he's up to no good.

"yes, what is it now?"

he looks at her, with eyes milky blue, an odd but fascinating combination of his parents' striking eyes, squinting in concentration like he really means to tell her something important. then, just as she's turning away to go back to the book she has open in front of her, he grabs a chunk of her hair and pulls it before dashing out of her sight.

she has him cornered and pinned down in the playground in two minutes flat. chouchou sits under a tree and laughs at the scene as boruto struggles to break free of her hold.

later, when she recounts the story over dinner, mama gives her a halfhearted lecture on how violence isn't the answer to everything, but if the smug smile on her face is anything to go by, mama secretly approves of how she fought back that afternoon.

papa doesn't comment on the matter immediately, but when mama walks over to the kitchen to bring over a second bowl of rice, he whispers, conspiratorially, "you tell me the next time he pulls your hair, i'll come by the academy and give him a good scare."

sarada knows not to give voice to her excitement lest mama were to hear them, so she just nods enthusiastically.

* * *

**twelve**

she doesn't believe it when she hears it. that the uchihas are a disgraceful clan, that uncle itachi is not a hero but a traitor, that uncle itachi is the reason she doesn't have a second set of grandparents, that he is the reason only three uchihas remain in the village, in the world.

she runs home crying, tears hot and intruding in her eyes but vision more clear than ever. she knows these are lies. she convinces herself they're lies in between sobs and pants, because the alternative is that her parents lied to her, and that is just not possible. but when she barges into the living room in a state of panic and despair, her parents share a quick, knowing look between each other, and she just knows that the ugly rumors she heard were not merely rumors after all.

she doesn't tell them what she heard at academy. mama hugs her like her life depends on it, papa kisses her forehead and wordlessly takes her to the bathroom to clean her up. afterward, they sit her down and tell her the truth. the whole and complete truth. the unsavory and uncomfortable truth of her father's history.

sarada cries a lot that night and falls asleep still sniffling, but cradled in the warmth of her mama and papa's embrace. she doesn't realize that she activated her sharingan through the ordeal until mama quietly tells her about it the next morning.

* * *

**fifteen**

sarada does not like daisuke. she does not like him at all, but she can't help but wish that he liked her. that way he would notice her, and he'd see she does not appreciate his nauseatingly cocky attitude one bit. but the sad truth of the matter is that he has fair hair and dark skin, and he is painfully easy on the eyes and completely clueless about her existence. he was the first one to make jounin out of their class at 13, so he does have good reason to be cocky. but she still does not appreciate it. she thinks maybe he would be more likely to notice her if they were in the same team. that was how her parents became close.

sadly, she is in a team with boruto and mitsuke—both idiots, who don't know what they are doing nine out of ten times. and daisuke is a nuisance too, but she thinks he'd be less of a nuisance than her current teammates.

"tch," she mutters, while scribbling over a routine night watch report at the dining table one evening.

her father is rinsing dishes off at the sink, and when he raises his eyebrow at her, she asks, "papa, do you think you and mama would have noticed each other if you weren't in the same team?"

"hm," papa contemplates, looking out the window above the sink, presumably onto the thatch of tomatoes blooming in their back garden. "i don't know, sarada. what is prompting this question, if i may ask? is this about boruto?"

sarada is quick to dismiss the horrifying conclusion her father is reaching at. "no, no, god, no."

he laughs, a modest guttural sound that is so comforting to sarada, that the words tumble out of her mouth before she can think better of it. "it's that daisuke. he is just so annoying."

she sees her father visibly tense for a moment. he turns the faucet off, wipes his hands dry, and walks over to the dining table to sit beside her.

"sarada," he starts, and his tone is so oddly soft that she wonders if she imagined him tensing like a rock just a few seconds ago. "you don't have to be teammates to get close to someone. and you absolutely don't have to be teammates to fall in love with someone. i'm sure your mama and i would have found our way to each other, even if we were in separate teams."

sarada is suddenly very uncomfortable with how this conversation is turning out, with the implication that she wants to get close to daisuke, or worse, that she entertains thoughts of falling in love with him. so she slams her pen down on the table and looks her father sternly in the eye.

"i don't know what you are talking about, papa. i said daisuke is annoying, he is an annoyance to me, a nuisance, and i cannot stand him."

she wants to set the record straight, but the small, knowing smile dancing along his lips is telling her she's not doing a good job.

she stands up abruptly and huffs out of the room.

* * *

**seventeen**

sarada remembers her sixteenth summer with unparalleled fondness. she remembers skies bluer than uncle naruto's eyes, nights warm and serene like her mother's embrace, and the nervous fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, prompted by the way daisuke looks at her.

they are seventeen and drunk in love. she feels like she can do anything with him beside her, with her arm looped around his neck and her name like a mantra on his lips. they sneak around the village, kissing in the woods and lying down together to consider the constellations at night. they make up stories to go with the pictures mapped by the stars. they laugh, they bicker, they love. when she's not on a mission, she spends every waking moment with daisuke, and when she's away, the thought of coming home to him keeps her going.

sarada finally understands why papa looks at mama like she is the sun in his sky.

* * *

**nineteen**

they tell her it was an instantaneous death, that he didn't suffer, that he died on impact. they tell her this as if it is supposed to make it better, as if it's going to somehow assuage the overwhelming grief that's coursing through her body, tying itself in a suffocating knot in the back of her throat.

she doesn't speak for a week after daisuke's death. mama is understanding, she leaves her meals by her bedside, but never asks after their untouched state. papa looks like he wants to say something. he comes by her room every night, holds her hand in between calloused skin and coarse bandage, as she weeps into her pillow, wordlessly. he grieves with her, even though he had only met daisuke a few times and never really had nice things to say about him. she knows he thinks he ought to say something, but she's grateful he doesn't. she's grateful that both her mother and father understand that the gaping hole in her chest cannot be filled by well meaning words, that she needs to let her loss consume her whole if she hopes to find the will to go on.

* * *

**twenty two**

she finds the will to go on. she doesn't know when or how it happens, but the pain of not seeing daisuke everyday, of not being able to tell him her every thought as they fall asleep underneath a blanket of stars dulls with time. she is always going to carry him with her, she's going to carry him in her heart. she's strong enough to withstand the crushing weight and concurrent emptiness of a departed love. and so she goes on missions, helps mama out in the hospital over the weekends, gardens with papa in the backyard so his tomatoes may grow in thick vines, goes grocery shopping with chouchou. she even hangs out with boruto from time to time. he's grown more sensitive with age, or maybe it's just that he sees she is trying to so hard to live and not remain stunted for the rest of her life. whatever may be the case, he is not half as bad as she once thought he was.

* * *

**twenty four**

sarada has seen her mother break down and come asunder only a couple of times. mama's heart is undoubtedly made of glass, but she has an iron will and a pair of iron fists that stand guard to everything she holds dear.

when papa comes home from a mission one night, blood soaked and barely breathing, mama clinically ties her hair up and gets right to work in the living room without missing a beat. sarada stands close by, trembling and shaking, as she watches her mother take a scalpel to her father's tunic and tear it in the middle, exposing the bloody mess underneath.

"sarada, go to your room," mama says, without taking her eyes off of papa.

she nods even if her mother cannot see her and runs to her room. she is trying to breathe, taking large gulps of air in, but the sight of the red on papa, just as menacing and startling as it had been on daisuke's flak-jacket, opens up a flood of memories she is not ready to face again. she sits on the floor, arms hugging knees, tears pooling in her eyes, and starts rocking back and forth.

she does not know how long she sits like this, but when she comes to, it is because her mother is sitting in front of her, and telling her papa's all right.

"he's all right, my love. he'll be fine, papa will be fine," mama says, pulling her into an embrace. sarada collapses into her mother's arms and doesn't let go for a long time.

the next evening, she is fixing herself a snack in the kitchen, when she sees her parents sitting out on the back porch. they are looking onto the small rectangular patches of earth, neatly lined with vines of thick tomatoes ripe for picking. papa's precious tomato garden has prospered through the years, and she knows he is silently very proud of himself for the bountiful turnout each season.

they sit, sharing a big blanket and intertwining hands, like they are never meant to unentangle themselves from one another. it's a quiet, intimate moment, and sarada feels like she is intruding, so she starts tiptoeing out of the kitchen. but she can't help but catch some of their words as she sneaks into her room and closes the door behind her.

"you have to be careful. i cannot lose you again."

"i know, i'm sorry."

"you don't have to apologize, but please take care."

"thank you, sakura."

* * *

**twenty eight**

sarada gives birth to twins in the winter. two girls, one with lush, dark hair, and eyes black as the night, and the other with fading, pink hair and forest green eyes. she hears uncle naruto joke about how the next one will definitely have a head full of blonde hair, and everyone in the room laughs heartily.

boruto kisses her, looking grateful and relieved and so bright, that she can't help but beam at him. she is exhausted, but seeing her husband, and her mama and papa, and uncle naruto and aunt hinata, and sweet little himawari, and darling chouchou cooing and fawning over her babies makes her heart swell with so much affection and pride. she falls asleep to this blissful picture, as the people she loves the most in the world take turns holding her babies.

as sleep takes her, she contentedly thinks that this is the first time she has seen her father cry.

* * *

**thirty eight**

it happens when no one is expecting it.

mama collapses one day and never wakes up. the whole village is devastated. the hospital staff wear pink in her honor the next day. uncle naruto spends the whole day either crying or trying very hard not to cry. he calls upon the village to observe a minute of silence in her memory, but fails to muffle his own sobs when the time comes. sarada doesn't know what to do or how to feel. everything happened so fast that she almost lets herself believe it is just a nightmare. someone will jolt her awake eventually. when reality sinks its claws into her heart, and the truth of the matter hits her, she falls to the ground, every bone in her body suddenly limp and lifeless.

papa sits by mama's bed, holding her hand for the rest of the day. he doesn't cry, he doesn't say anything to anyone, he only looks at mama like she is the last flicker of light in his life, a dying candle that will surely take with it all perception of hope when it finally extinguishes. naruto has to shake him through his own tears when shizune comes in to take mama away. but he doesn't budge, he doesn't let go of her hand. he just sits there with her, hands intertwined like they are never meant to unentangle.

"you have to let her go," sarada puts a trembling hand on his shoulder and says, through broken sobs. "papa, she's gone. you have to let her go."

papa takes his eyes off of mama. he turns to sarada, takes her hand from his shoulder, and slowly lets go of mama's hand. he isn't crying, he isn't even frowning like he always is, but the light is gone from his eyes.

the candle has been extinguished.

* * *

**forty**

ayaka and ayumi are preparing for their chunin exams before sarada has had the chance to baby them to her heart's content. ayaka is shy, quiet, and sensitive, her disposition most similar to boruto's kind mother. ayumi is fire and cracker, as quick to win people over as she is to rouse their ire. they are inseparable, even though they do not see eye to eye on most things. in fact, the only thing they have in common is their fondness for their grandfather.

papa retired after mama's death. he busies himself spending time with ayaka and ayumi, or gardening, or sparring with uncle naruto. he spends a lot of time on his own, in the house she grew up in, which worries sarada, but he's been doing better than she thought he would. he's been doing better than anyone thought he would.

she visits him every saturday, goes in early and cooks lunch for both of them. they spend most of the day caring after his tomatoes, slipping in meaningful conversation in between digging and fertilizing the soft earth.

every once in a while, they talk about mama. they laugh about her many odd pet peeves, fuss over little things that both of them do that mama would have done differently and better—like cooking rice with a little extra water so it was softer and chewier just like papa preferred, or getting the girls from dropping a silly argument by making her hands glow green. sometimes they sit on the back porch, like mama and papa always did, and shed silent tears, remembering the woman who loved them both, who is missed every day, every minute. but they are good and strong on most days.

sarada feared she might have lost her father along with her mother that day, but she was wrong. he lives on, taking life one day at a time. she is certain he struggles, and it isn't always easy, but papa lives on. and sarada knows she has mama to thank for that.

* * *

**a/n**: the past few days have been extremely upsetting for more reasons than one, so i thought i'd throw myself into writing something that could potentially cheer me up. unfortunately, despite my efforts to the contrary, the sadness kinda just bled into this one and made its home here. i hope this gave you some warm fuzzies, bc just the thought of this family being together and not being robbed of a decade's worth of precious time gives me the warm fuzzies. also, thank you to the lovely SouthSideStory, who is the best beta a girl could ask for.

a line in here was inspired by one of my favorite poems by e. e. cummings. brownie points if you can identify the line!


End file.
